Bun for Your Life (17 page)

“He's going out of town, and I'm going to help while he's away.”

“All of a sudden he's asked you for help?”

“Not exactly.”

We walked the rest of the way to our cars. Olivia leaned against hers and folded her arms across her chest. “‘Not exactly.' That means no. I didn't think so. Stay out of it. How's Enid supposed to help you? You don't even know the woman.”

“Since she writes mysteries, I thought she could lead me in the right direction.”

Olivia threw her hands in the air. “That's it. I don't want to hear any more. If you go any further with this harebrained scheme of helping to solve Calista's murder, I don't want to know. I told you, I don't want anything happening to you. Promise me you won't say another word to me about it.”

I couldn't believe her. “How can you say that? You're my best friend. Who else can I tell?”

“Nobody, please! They'll think you're crazy. I'm not trying to be mean, I just can't deal with you getting yourself into something dangerous. Maybe Sean will be interested in hearing about your plans, but somehow I think not. It's too stressful for me. If you end up dead, I'll never forgive you.”

I pulled open my car door. “Then I won't mention it at all. I have no intention of ending up dead. You watch too much TV.”

Olivia yanked her car door open, muttering something. I was afraid to ask what, so I got into my own car.

I drove through the open gates in front of Enid's lakefront house. The house was spectacular, impressively rendered in the Jacobethan Revival style with pitched roofs and stepped gables, but the front entrance portico was Georgian Revival. I remembered all that from a tour I took of the house once. It used to be the town's historical museum/art museum, and what passed for our cultural center years back before it moved to the other side of town.

Why Enid needed such a big house to rent was beyond my understanding. But, that was her business, her money. Maybe she planned on entertaining, although I hadn't heard of any parties here, and she didn't seem like the entertaining type on any level. Not that I'd be invited, mind you.

I parked in front, exited my car, went up the walk, then knocked on the green front door. I wondered if she could even hear me. There is no way I'd stay here alone. It's way, way too big. I'd have all the lights on at night. A few minutes later the door opened.

“Timeliness is an admirable trait” was Enid's greeting.

“I appreciate your seeing me,” I replied.

“I can give you half an hour. We'll sit in the parlor.”

I didn't realize anyone said “parlor” anymore. I followed her into said parlor, where I sat on an ancient-looking dark red velvet couch. I pulled out my notebook and pen. She perched on one of the armchairs, her back ramrod straight, right at the very edge of the seat, hands folded primly in her lap.

“Tell me what exactly you think I can help you with?” she asked. She hadn't asked me if I wanted any refreshments, but I overlooked her hostessing faux pas. I was eager to get started.

“First, I'd like your take on Calista's murder.”

She pulled a pink tissue out from the sleeve of her sweater and patted at her eyes.

“I'm not sure what you mean by ‘my take' on it. It was a horrible crime; what more is there to say? She and I bonded right away, you know. We became quite good friends. I was devastated by her death. I've been reading about it and hearing it on the news, and it seems the police have no firm suspects.”

I listened, not agreeing or disagreeing. “Let's go to your character, Melanie. What steps would she go through?”

Enid's lips pursed together slightly, again looking not too happy with my question. She shifted in her chair. “Calista never mentioned you, yet you're very interested in her case.”

“As I said, she didn't deserve to die. I think there are things the police and Detective Corsino are missing. I need some help figuring out what.”

She considered me for moment. “On second thought, I don't see what I can add, or how I can help. Honestly, young lady, it's rather silly of you to try and solve a murder, if you don't mind my saying so. It doesn't make sense. Making up a
story about murder is one thing. Investigating a real one, quite another. It's not something normal people run around doing.

“When I write, I already know who the victim and the murderer are. They aren't real people like Calista was. I've made them all up.” She rose. “I'm sorry. I can't help you. If you collect your purse, I can see you out.”

I was dumbfounded. Naturally, I had no choice but to get up. I tagged along after her to the front door, trying to figure out what had caused her change of mind. “Calista was your friend. Don't you want to help?”

She jerked the front door open, narrowly missing me, and turned. “Yes, Miss Tyler, she was. That's why this isn't a game to me. I am quite content to leave the solving of real murders to the experts. I'm a writer. I don't have magical powers. The only advice I can give you is that if this were one of my Melanie Hastings mysteries, Trey would be the killer. It doesn't mean he is, but that's all I can offer you. Good evening.”

She had the door closed before I got to my car. My initial disappointment faded. I was afraid I didn't like Enid Middlebrook all that much. Maybe I was better off without her help.

*  *  *

“He eats twice a day. He loves going on walks,” Sean explained that evening when he dropped off Beau.

I knelt down and hugged him. Beau, not Sean. “We'll be fine, won't we?” I looked up at his owner. “How about if I bring him to the bakery? That way he won't be bored staying at home by himself. My customers will love him.”

“That's fine with me. He loves people and attention.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to me. “Here's my cell number, email address, and the number and address for Beau's vet. You shouldn't need him, but just in case. Beau's got plenty of food. I'll bring it over in a few minutes, along with his dishes, leash, and toys, then I'll be on my way.”

I stood, looking at the piece of paper in my hand. “Good. That way I can keep you up to date if anything happens with any of the suspects here. Or if I find anything out that will help.”

Sean frowned. “You don't need to keep me up to date on anything, except Beau. You have no idea who the suspects even are. Stick to cupcakes and doughnuts and keep murder-solving off your menu. I don't want you doing more research, or talking to anyone about it. You could endanger the investigation. Got it?”

I nodded, but crossed my fingers behind my back for good measure. I still hadn't heard from Bobby. I hoped he had called Trey to arrange to do the story. Now that Enid's help was a moot point, I was on my own.

“I don't like that look on your face. I mean it, Molly. No interfering. I don't want you obfuscating my investigation.”

“Obfuscating”? If the good detective thought I was going to let him be condescending once again by using big words, he was sadly mistaken. But the man did obviously need some help, at least in my opinion, especially since he was going away. In the end, he would thank me for it. “I'm not going to complicate anything. I still don't get how you can leave in the middle of a murder investigation.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Again, don't worry. Everything is under control. Lots of stuff going on behind the scenes. The investigation isn't stopping because I'm away. I've got backup in Rigby. That is all I am saying about it. Even
that's more than you need to know. I'm going to go get the rest of Beau's stuff, be right back.”

*  *  *

The next morning I arrived at Bread and Batter a little after four in the morning. It was my day to open; Olivia would be in later. I put Beau's bed in the corner and arranged his water and food dish and he settled right in. The first couple of hours the bakery was open were busy. Beau was a big hit. His tale wagged and he went from one customer to another, wiggling all over until everyone fawned over him. I was seriously thinking about getting a dog myself.

By noon it had died down, and I took advantage of the lull to call Bobby at the Ford dealership. I was thrilled to hear that he had talked to Trey, and he agreed to come to the bakery within the hour to tell me about it.

The door chimed, and Olivia came in. “Hi.” She looked from me to Beau. “Who is this pretty doggy? Hello there, sweetheart.”

“Liv, meet Beau. He's Sean's dog. I'm watching him while he's out of town. Usually Dottie watches him for Sean, but she left town, too.”

She looked at me. “Where did Sean go?”

“He joined the rest of the police department down in New York.”

“Listen, Moll. I'm sorry about what I said. I mean about not wanting to hear about your interest in Calista's murder. You've always been there for me, and I want to do the same for you. I don't like it, but you can talk to me anytime.”

“Oh, Liv. Thank you.” I went over to her and hugged her. “I promise I won't do anything stupid and I won't get hurt.”

She pulled away from me. “How was this morning?”

I paced back and forth in front of the window. “It just quieted down about five minutes ago. Bobby Crandall is coming in soon to talk to me. We'll go in the back.”

Beau nudged me with his head, then jumped up, placing his paws on my legs. He let out a soft woof. I lowered myself to my knees and hugged him. “Okay, I get it. You want to go for a walk.” He waited patiently while I got his leash and fastened it to his collar. Then he made for the front door. “We'll be back!”

We took a quick walk up to the jewelry story and back. I didn't want to miss Bobby. I promised Beau I'd take him for another walk later as I put his dish down with fresh water in it. I resumed pacing as I waited for Bobby.

“Why don't you go in the back and straighten up the office?” Olivia suggested. “Your pacing is not going to make Bobby get here any faster.”

“You're right. I'll be in the back when he gets here. I think I'll straighten up the office.”

“Yes, I know,” replied Olivia, laughing. “It was my idea.”

*  *  *

I had cleared the desk, vacuumed, dusted, prepared a supply order, and gone through my emails when Olivia showed up with Bobby in tow. I invited him to sit in the chair, and I sat behind the desk. “Thanks for doing this.”

“I still don't like it, but if it helps to catch Calista's killer, then it'll have been worth it.”

“How did it go? Did Trey give you a hard time?”

“No. I called him and told him I wanted to do a follow-up story; not leave the people with an impression of him as someone with a temper who couldn't control himself. Then I told him I wanted to do a piece on the evidence he has showing that the Calista Sugar Pink apple really is his.”

I settled back in my chair. “Listen, Bobby. Before you start. I'm not with the FBI or the CIA, or any organization with initials. Neither is Olivia. I let you sort of assume that, but it's not true. I'm sorry, I should have been more forthcoming.”

“It's okay, Molly. I'm not going to tell anyone.”

Oh boy. “Bobby, I'm not kidding. We own a bakery.”

“I know.” He winked at me. “You don't want to blow your cover. You don't have to worry, you're both very convincing. This is just like a bakery. I know how these undercover things work.”

“Bobby, this
is
a bakery. It's not just like one. Okay, never mind. Let's hear what you have.” You would agree that I tried, wouldn't you? If he didn't want to hear that Olivia and I are not heroes in some crime-fighting agency, I can hardly be held responsible.

He pulled out a notebook. “It was a short interview.”

“Why don't you just tell me what he said?”

“Okay. As I said, I told him I wanted to do a follow-up story on the one about his outburst at the Jandellas' nursery. Give him a chance to offer up concrete proof the Calista Sugar Pink does belong to him, not the Danforths. He replied that he has concrete proof; something he just came across that will prove once and for all that the Calista Sugar Pink belongs to the Hamiltons. He said he's going to fight for the Calista Sugar Pink in earnest now.”

“What's the proof? Why hasn't he made an issue of it before now?”

“He told me that while he loved my idea, unfortunately, he can't talk about what the proof is. Not yet. He's been working with an attorney now to verify it once and for all and go after the Danforths and the Calista Sugar Pink. He's hoping the Jandellas will forgive him and work with him to distribute the apple. Then he told me he couldn't say any more.”

My heart sank. “Nothing more?”

“I'm afraid not. He's prepared to do battle with Calista's cousins, who are taking over Danforth Orchards, only he said once they see the proof he has, there won't be any battle. That was pretty much it.”

I was hoping for a lot more, but I was grateful to him for trying nonetheless. “Thank you, Bobby. I appreciate your efforts.”

He got up. “Sorry it wasn't more. That's all I could get out of him.”

“It's okay.” I walked him to the front door. “Wait, take some cupcakes. On the house.”

When Bobby had left, I took out my phone and began texting Sean.

It's Molly. I'm sorry to bother you. I just talked to Bobby Crandall. He writes for the paper. He did a follow-up interview with Trey. Trey said he has proof the apple was found on his property and he's seeing an attorney. Don't you think you should have someone talk to him? Find out what it is?

I waited, and thirty seconds later, Sean replied.

I don't recall asking for a daily update on Calista's murder. In fact, I recall asking you to stay out of the investigation. How did Bobby just happen to interview Trey?

I may have suggested it.

Stay out of it! If I have to have you arrested, I will.

Arrested? On what charge?

I'll let it be a surprise. Any problems with Beau?

Beau is fine. He's adjusting quite well without you.

Thanks for taking care of him. Concentrate on that, not my murder case.

He was a riot. I turned off my phone. How could he not take me seriously?

*  *  *

When I arrived home that night, my thoughts returned to what Jane had said about Enid. I took Beau for a nice long walk, fed him, then picked up the phone.

“Hi, Kate. It's Molly.”

“Hi, Molly. This is a surprise! Albeit a nice one.”

I smiled. Kate is the sweetest woman. I missed having her as a mother-in-law. “The other day at the talk Enid was giving, Jane told me Enid's name was really Beatrice. I wanted to come by and see if I could talk to her about it.”

“She's mentioned that. I wish I knew what exactly she meant. Unfortunately, she's not having a good day today, which is discouraging. She's been doing so well. She rides her bike again and remembers her way around; of course, we follow her in the car, but don't ever tell her I told you. But today, Molly, is just not her day.”

“I'm sorry, Kate. I can do it another time. Sounds like she's in and out.”

“That's a perfect way to put it. I think of it that way myself. In and out. I can't believe Christmas is around the corner. Can you? I've got so much to do.”